


ça passe ou ça casse

by 3370318



Category: Never Satisfied
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8055544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3370318/pseuds/3370318
Summary: Philomena takes January as her date to an aristocratic wedding. Sylas laments his lack of a relationship (as he is wont to do). Seiji steals all of the finger foods.





	ça passe ou ça casse

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm christening this fandom tag - Never Satisfied is a webcomic by Taylor Robin (aka Corny)... if anyone stumbles upon this without knowing? I dunno. You should definitely read it because the character design is great and you will immediately be emotionally attached to all of them. Also it's cute and fun as hell (um... except maybe now that we're in the Bad Time Zone) and really just wonderful, feels like it should be a cartoon or something. [here](http://neversatisfiedcomic.com/)
> 
> Otherwise: In the imaginary and mostly irrelevant timeline this fic takes place in, I imagine it's a few months ahead of canon, Jan and Phil are in an established relationship, and Sylas has moved on but is still a pathetically lonely human being.

"I'm not sure about this," January confessed. Friday gave a few emphatic flaps of his wings. She turned around again while she trained her eyes on the floor-length mirror.

A wedding - a rich person wedding - seemed bound to have everyone dressed in their best. January didn’t have much to speak of aside from a few sundresses, her apprentice clothes and a guard uniform. She ran a hand down her stomach to inspect the crease of the dress slacks Philomena had picked out for her. _Can’t breathe. How do you do squats in these._

"I swear it'll be fine," Philomena started. "I mean, uh, you know! Maybe it'll be fine?! I don't like it either..."

Phil sauntered up beside her, dressed in a shimmery green ensemble with lustrous gold jewelry wherever she could wear it. Pins held half of her hair up already, but the loose strands fell thickly over her shoulders. Her fingers began to braid as she talked.

“It’s always such a - you know, a big thing with aristocrats. I bet half of them will - will come dressed in ball gowns, hah, I get so overwhelmed. Basically all of my family’s gonna be there… They’re gonna take turns asking me how training is. And what I’m gonna do for a job and - I’d rather not… think about that, like, ever!”

“Aw, Philly,” January said, then paused to consider her words. “I… I’m sure it won’t be so bad. You’re good at parties ‘n all. I can deflect anybody who bothers you too much. Like, hey, I’m her strong girlfriend with a punching license.”

“Hehe! Oh, don’t actually punch anyone.”

“I can’t make those kinds of promises, Phil.”

“At least don’t break any bones?” Philomena attempted a grin that looked closer to a grimace.

January began to beam, satisfied with her pep talk, even as she struggled to fix the bow around her collar. Her smile vanished after a moment’s consideration.

“He’s not gonna be there, is he?”

“Ugh, you know he is. Dubois this and that - they’re real important - they’ll be crawling all over the venue. And Seiji–”

“I’ll bury ‘em.”

“Ah, no,” Philomena sighed. “It hasn’t been… an issue. He’s still weird, you know, but… not to me… so much...”

She tucked her braid behind her while the thought petered out. January took a few steps back and slowly sat on the corner chair. She fussed with the uncompromising dress pant material as she did, which only made her look crankier. Philomena flopped down beside her and grinned.

“Hehe… are you jealous?!”

“N-no! No, absolutely not! As if!”

The taller girl sprung to her feet again and scooped Philomena up under the arms, and twirled her across the dressing room floor.

* * *

 A canopy of lights seemed to float above the horizon untethered, which dappled light on the wedding party well into the late evening. The reception evened out into something more of another cocktail hour, occupied by aristocrats drinking wine and chattering on street patios. Sylas looked completely lost, and so, stuck out like a sore thumb. That was normal.

“Where do you think Seiji went? Oh…” he bemoaned, pressing his forehead into the palms of his hands while he slouched over a wayside table.

“Now’sss the perfect time to meet girls,” Fenn insisted. “There are so many. They just went wild over that bouquet toss. They wanna marry someone.”

“Nooo Sylasss please don’t get married…”

“I don’t wanna meet girls. Or get married. I just want to… go home,” he decided. “And wallow.”

Sylas downed the rest of his drink and pushed the glass aside.

“I like wallowing,” Fineas murmured.

“Boo,” Fenn said.

Both snakes' commentary went unacknowledged while Sylas took to staring down at his cup in silent contemplation.

Soon, Seiji did amble back, gait crooked, holding a tray filled with finger foods while Junko trotted beside him cautiously. The consequent clatter of the platter on the table made Sylas jerk out of his reverie, feet scuffing on the pavement to keep him upright.

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Sorry, buddy,” he said, tone betrayed by the huge smirk on his face. “Look at all this, though. People kept thinking I was a waiter and asking me for tiny hot dogs… like, no, right? I took it all for me. Also, these aren’t waiter clothes. These are silk. Hand-tailored. You would think they’d know the difference. Bugger off, vodka aunt!”

“Uh-huh.”

Sylas picked up an hors d'oeuvre with a faraway manner, mind elsewhere. Seiji sunk into the chair opposite of him and pulled a face.

“What’s eating you, Sylas? You know I don’t like seeing you upset.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“When it’s funny,” Seiji uttered defensively. “It’s not funny right now. There’s no payoff to a sadsack at a wedding - well, there might be several–”

“Your point, _dear_.”

“Haw! I just wanna know what’s got you so down. Maybe I can help. Talking about it helps. You know?”

Seiji emoted like he was wheedling an elderly woman out of her pension, but Sylas had a foothold on their years of rocky friendship that allowed him to correctly interpret it as ‘near-close-to-genuine-as-he-gets.’ It sufficed.

“...I don’t know. It’s really stupid. I keep seeing Philomena with her girlfriend, and…”

“Are you jealous?”

“I just feel sort of wrong,” Sylas said, voice low. “And, you know, stupid. I could never… now that I see her with someone else, I don’t even want to be with her. I could never, I was never what… she wanted, you know? And I must be making her feel weird, if she notices me.”

“Really,” Seiji hummed, taking a handful of tiny hors d’oeuvres with disregard to the parts crumbling through his fingers. “Since when were you this considerate?”

“I _thought_ you wanted to _help_ ,” Sylas said, rasping from the tightness in his throat.

“Kidding, Sy...”

Seiji lingered on the creases in Sylas’s expression, then stared down at the plate of finger foods he’d procured from the buffet. He shoveled the rest in his pocket and gave Junko a gentle nudge with his foot.

“Come on, let’s blow this joint. Sy, we could have a jaunt in the marina. Or I could walk you home.”

“I don't care.”

“Hmm. Fine, then, I decided that we’re going to have a walk this-away.”

He pulled Sylas to his feet and grabbed hold of his arm as they passed through the thicket of party-goers. It took a few stumbling minutes until the worst of it tapered off and left the road devoid of anything besides empty vacation homes; they were monolithic in the cathartic sort of way where Seiji and Sylas both felt insignificant against them. Seiji let go of Sylas and squinted through the dusk at him.  
  
"Wow," Seiji mused. “Felt claustrophobic back there.”

"It was brighter," Sylas commented, quiet and chewing on his thoughts. “And warmer. It's chilly here. This is the kind of place where you might get mugged.”

“I’d be doing the mugging,” Seiji said, nonchalant, then scratched at his wrist. “Damn, I should’ve gotten something to drink. My mouth’s itchy.”

“So, what’s the point of this?”

“I don’t know. I thought you might like to brood. This seems like a good place for it.”

“I don’t want to… brood? I mean, do I? I don’t know… ugh. Do you ever feel like your entire existence - is a mistake?”

“That is brooding, bud.” Seiji grinned, but dashed it off of his face. “I feel like that all the time. I think it’s normal.”

“It’s not normal, Seiji,” Junko chimed in. She pressed her head into his leg while she tried to free the snacks from his coat pocket. “We’ve talked about this like two hundred ti–”

“ _Thank you_ , Junko,” he intervened, “for deciding to give us privacy.”

Seiji tossed a handful of appetizers to the roadside. Junko shot him a look, but surrendered to his request and padded away. His attention turned to Fenn and Fineas, who had their heads pressed under Sylas’s chin while they gawped. Sylas scooped them up under the belly and set them on the ground.

“...all right, Seiji. All right. Just ask Junko if she’ll let you curl up in her fur, Fenn. It’ll be like five minutes.”

“You’ve got me on a timer?” Seiji inquired.

“What, are you gonna read me your thesis on how to repress emotion?”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

“No, I liked it.”

Once Fenn and Fineas had slithered out of sight, Seiji crossed the gap between them and settled his head against Sylas’s chest. The cold arm of his glasses pressed into his cheek enough that it was a bother, so he removed them. A beat - then Sylas curled his arm around Seiji and leaned in close enough that their temples brushed.

“What’s this?”

“It’s called a hug-”

“You know what I mean.”

“I just want you to relax. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Quiet. The sound of distant waves. Seiji breathing.

“It’s hard to articulate,” Sylas admitted, lowering his voice to a vulnerable whisper, “when I don’t really know the right words... for it. It’s me - everything is just, me, being neurotic. Nobody likes anything about me, and I can’t even fix it. I’m an idiot and it always - stares me right in the face. Philomena and January, seeing them, I just realize how _stupid_ I am-”

Sylas felt breath hot on his neck. Seiji peered up at him.

“Hey,” he said, “let go of it. They’re happy, they don’t care about you - so what.”

“ _So_ -”

“You know what I mean, right? Why let it bother you. Don’t hold onto it, Sylas.” Seiji tried to concentrate on a far-off lantern instead of looking him in the eyes. “Besides… you _do_ have… a friend. Practically a boyfriend, right?”

“What are you…”

“I’m just saying,” he insisted. “Are we not kinda gay?”

“What…” Sylas repeated, incredulous. “Seiji, are you flirting with me?”

“No, you don’t get it! I mean, I don’t know. Maybe I’m not explaining well enough. If we’re both so lonely -” he ventured, thoughts racing faster than he could moderate, “- we could, just, we could just have each other. You know?!”

“That’s  _flirting_ , Seiji!”

Sylas pressed a hand against his stomach to suppress the butterflies there. He’d tried to court several girls, but no one had ever - what could you call that? Propositioned him? _Had any interest at all_? And this coming from his best friend… It felt like such a cliche it nearly made him sick with an unfamiliar emotion.

“No, I don’t-”

Seiji looked as alarmed as Sylas had ever seen him, curling in on himself protectively and eyeing the direction they’d came from. The last time Sylas saw Seiji so helpless, they were probably kids… He approached as non-threateningly as he could and gave him a tight hug around the shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Seiji. Please don’t leave. I’m confused - I want you to tell me what’s wrong, you know, you always ask me to tell _you_ -”

“...if I made you uncomfortable, Sylas,” Seiji started, “I’m sorry. I thought you… maybe… would be into stupid declarations of love.”

“You love me?”

“Of course I do. Yes.”

“I love you, too… just like, my… my friend. I’ve never thought about… dating you. I didn’t think - I couldn’t imagine that was - a possibility.”

Seiji hooked his arms under Sylas’s and stayed hinged there, face buried in the cotton of his dress shirt that smelled just like bad cologne. Sylas flattened his palms and pressed into the small of his back almost as intensely as his heart throbbed somewhere in his stomach. _So warm._

“Is it weird? To think about?”

“No,” he said. “No… yes, it is, not in a bad way, I’ve just never…”

“But it’s a possibility now?”

“Yeah.”

“Could we try kissing?”

“...maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I’ve... thought about _that_ before,” Sylas admitted, timid. “It might be nice. Yes.”

Seiji pushed himself up on his tip-toes, too preoccupied with the way his chest ached to consider how awkward the height difference was. Sylas tried to meet him halfway. They both compromised by sliding down the wall so they were nearly sitting on the pavement, desperate for the intimacy.

“You’re cute,” Seiji flirted, unabashed and thrilled with it. He brushed a bit of Sylas’s fringe from his eyes, then rested his hand just under his temple. “Have you kissed anyone before, Sy?”

“Yes,” Sylas said, almost defensive. “Before you ask - none of your business.”

“I don’t kiss and tell, either,” Seiji replied. “Don’t get so ruffled, babe.”

“ _What_ did you call m...”

Seiji brushed their lips together. A ghost of a touch. Then, a proper kiss - chaste though it was. Sylas leaned into it, hummed, let his fingers dig into Seiji’s hips. Any inhibitions they’d had before dissipated with the inherent comfort they found in each other; Sylas really did love Seiji, whether that happened to be platonic or romantic or what, and he found that Seiji felt pleasant to hold. Soft clothes, warm body.

“Your lips are dry,” Sylas commented.

“Yeah, we can’t all be perfect, Sylas.”

“Can I kiss you, now?”

“I want you to.”

So it was. Sylas pressed into Seiji, bit at his lip (to a startled cackle) and kissed him deeply. Seiji straightened his back then arced up, attempting to follow the way Sylas’s mouth moved against his. The heat of it made them dizzy and acted as a nice counter to the night breeze prickling on their skin. When Seiji finally pried away, he wobbled backward while trying to catch his breath.

“Seiji?” Sylas wiped his face on his sleeve, then looped an arm around Seiji's waist to steady him.

“ _Yes_.”

“You taste like dinner, it’s disgusting.”

“Haha! I love you!” Seiji guffawed.

“Another thing.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Would_ you walk me home?”

“Ah. Absolutely.”


End file.
